Hawkeye's Therapy
by Sandyswrite
Summary: Sequel to HAWKEYE'S SESSION. Or how Clint initially wants to kick Coulson's ass for lying about still being dead, but ends up talking about his feelings instead. Clint and Natasha go to, what essentially is, the new base of the new SHIELD. With emotional wounds still fresh, two confrontations happen, and Clint has to make a crossroads decision.


_******DISCLAIMER: This is a fanfic, meaning it was written for fun and not for profit. I do not own anything in regards to this fanfic (except perhaps the plot, but even that contains plot elements from the Marvel Movies, so I do not own ALL of the plot).**_

**Hey guys,**

**Here's the sequel. :D It's not as action-y as the first one, but it definitely has a lot of feels.****As to why I put it into this folder...it just seemed to fit. It can get pretty confusing, the MCU we all love so much. ;)**

**Hope you guys like this! **

* * *

Through his specialized binoculars, he scanned the area. The land was arid and flat, making hiding from the base impossible, but he and Tasha attempted to do so anyway several miles away from the target location.

He looked over his shoulder to check on her. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes widened. "What are you doing?!"

"What? The shade moved."

She pointed at the thin tree—the only plant God had forsaken to this place, and the only cover they had from the base within a seven mile radius. She had been behind it—well, behind _him_, who was behind it—a moment ago. Now, she was standing off to the side where the damn shade was, her jacket hanging off the crook of her elbow.

"I didn't bring my sunglasses," she said further, almost bitterly.

"This is an op," he snapped, "and you're compromising it."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. That robotic sniper rifle in the west tower has been waving at us for the past three minutes."

His heart rate skyrocketed. With lightning-speed, he placed the binoculars over his sunglasses, the two computerized items synching up to work as a perfect searching unit. He instantly found the cheerful rifle Tasha had referred to. "Son of a bitch."

"They probably knew we were coming hours before we actually got here. Considering that we are in open space, it would be stupid of them not to keep a constant look out for potential threats."

He lowered his hands, a look of utter bafflement on his face. As the seconds passed, bafflement turned into embarrassment, then annoyance, then exhaustion. He sighed and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"You want to talk about it?" Tasha asked.

His chest tightened at her words, so he decided to play dumb. "Talk about what?"

"Why we've been 'staking out' Coulson's new base for hours?"

"Why'd you say it like that? 'Staking out.'"

"Because you have made so many rookie mistakes on this 'op' that initially I thought you were messing with me."

"…Maybe I was."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you scared?"

"What?" He had to take his sunglasses off to get a better look at her—to see if she was joking or just being an ass. When her serious expression didn't fade, he settled back on his haunches and considered her question. "No. Scared of what?"

"I don't know. Of Coulson? Of SHIELD? Or whatever this is now." She waved an arm at the distant base, contempt crinkling her brow.

"Are you?" he asked.

"No."

"But you're resentful."

"Very."

He cringed. He didn't really feel _guilty_—none of this had been his fault—but…the more he thought about her and SHIELD, the more often his insides iced over. It shouldn't have ended like that…not for her.

She gave him a small smile, probably reading his mind like she always did. "It's hard to be regretful though."

"Yeah." His gaze lowered. "I know what you mean."

They remained silent for a long while, letting the wind and the tree's dying leaves converse softly.

When he stood up, he didn't know any more about himself than he had before, but he had developed a better understanding of her. "You're not coming with me."

"You may not even be going," she said challengingly, a light smirk softening the accusation. "If you're not afraid, then what is it? Because you are definitely hesitating, and that is something I've never seen you do before."

He snorted, staring pointedly at her.

"Okay, I've only seen you do _once_ before," she said.

"That was a crossroads decision," he said, and it finally clicked: the reason for his hesitation, for the tightening of his chest—"This is another one. But this time…I don't know what the right thing to do is."

"This time, it isn't about doing the right thing," she said. Her voice was gentle, her gaze thoughtful but certain. "What do you _want_, Clint?"

She was soothing when she got like this, so despite the weight of her question, Clint found himself relaxing a little. A puff of air blew past his lips. "Hell if I know." Shaking his head, he leaned back against the tree. "I haven't had to think that way in years."

"Me either."

He thought about that. "What are you going to do if you're not coming back?"

"Something doesn't settle right with me about the Winter Soldier." Her posture stiffened. The transition from _soothing_ to _professional_ happened so quickly that it would have felt surreal to anyone who didn't know her like he did.

"Not vengeance," he said knowingly, though a small part of him always worried that she would thirst for it one day; she had every right to.

"No. But what HYDRA did to him…the Red Room is similar. There has to be a connection."

"Do you need me?"

"Not yet. It might be a while. I need to get some intel first, see if my hunch is right."

They nodded at each other. He could sense the fire radiating off her—the anger, the pain. He felt the echoes of it as he remembered what those people had done to her.

He forced his teeth to unclench. "You sure this isn't too personal for you?"

"Of course it is. That is why _I_ am doing. No agency. Just me."

"Just you…." He didn't like it. However, with everything SHIELD had done—with everything he had been wrong about—he had no right to reprimand her. All he could do was glance away and try not to feel so helpless. "Well…if that's what you need—"

"It is."

He licked his chapped lips. "Okay." _Be careful_, he wanted to say, but it was pointless—and insulting—to ask her to do something she would obviously try to do…until she didn't want to do it anymore. He shivered at the thought, masking it by turning his body toward the base. "Okay."

He felt her move toward him before she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll call you when I need help."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "_When_? Not _if_?"

She shrugged. "I know my limits. You don't have to worry."

"I'm not worried."

"Me neither," she said, nodding toward the base. "Whatever you decide to do, I'm not worried. Not where you are concerned."

The corner of his lips tugged upward, and even as he wiped at them, they wouldn't move back down. "Thanks, Tasha."

"Anytime."

* * *

It didn't really feel like breaking in when the security equipment was allowing him to enter, but Clint moved with the utmost stealth, anyway. No alarms were going off, no announcements were made, so perhaps the autonomous weapons were humoring him and his desire to go in unseen. The idea was strange, but he had dealt with stranger.

The building was virtually empty, and if he was right about the security system humoring him, then he didn't need to worry about all the cameras. Regardless, he climbed up to the catwalk and kept to the shadows; it was partially out of a trained instinct to stay hidden, but he also just felt a sense of peace when he was high off the ground. All of the things he could see at once…it was grand yet comforting.

He came across a few members of Coulson's team, and he watched them for a while. But when the Calvary entered the scene, he left as silently as he could. He knew enough about Melinda May to know to keep his distance from her.

By the time nightfall came, he had settled in Coulson's room. Specifically, he had made himself comfortable on top of a tall, dusty bookshelf. And he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It was past midnight by the time Coulson trudged into the room.

Clint, crouched and resting his head in both hands, observed Coulson with keen eyes. The man looked better than Clint thought he would; he appeared worn, yes, but at least he wasn't…a zombie.

In that moment, Clint wondered if it had been stupid of him to think that Coulson could be turned into one of those. He shook it off when the person in question collapsed on a thin mattress. Burying his face into the pillow, he released such a deep sigh that Clint considered letting the poor guy sleep. Then he thought better of it.

"Hey, Coulson."

The man did an impressive flip—like a fish on land—and pressed himself against the wall, gawking up at Clint.

"Barton?!"

"Why do you look so shocked?" Clint asked, his head still in his hands. He could feel the corners of his grin pressing into his palms. "I'm the one looking at a ghost."

Coulson released a whoosh of air. "Funny." He rubbed his chest. "You know I had pretty serious heart surgery, right? The kind where you really shouldn't scare the crap out of person afterward."

"That was ages ago. You're fine now."

"Well, that's nice." Coulson sat up on his bed, lowering his hands and looking as professional as ever. Then he gulped and a rather…innocent expression came over his face. "How pissed are you?"

Clint tapped his chin. "You know…I was shocked, annoyed…a little offended…but I don't think I was ever pissed at you."

"Really?"

He shrugged. "You and I were never the best of friends. And SHIELD had its reason for keeping secrets."

"Fury," Coulson said, emphasizing the word with a desperate sense of earnestness. "Fury had his reasons, not SHIELD."

"Yeah…that makes more sense." It was also a bit of a relief. He gave Coulson another once over before jumping off the book shelf. When he straightened, he saw that Coulson had stood up, and his face was tensed. Clint tapped it a few times, which made Coulson tense up further. At the man's questioning and horrified expression, Clint said, "I just want to make sure that you're…you know…_alive_-alive."

Coulson swatted his hand away. "What is that supposed to mean?"

_Zombie, Frankenstein's monster_—"Nothing." Clint stepped back and cleared his throat. "Look, there is a reason I'm here, other than to torture you."

"Oh, good. For a second, I was really worried."

"Your death, while not overly devastating—no offense—"

"Uh, well—"

"—still hurt. And it got me thinking about a lot of things…things I never thought about asking you until you were gone."

Coulson furrowed his brow. "Like what?"

"For starters," Clint turned his head, glimpsing at his arrows before turning back to Coulson, "why the hell did you suggest to SHIELD that I'd be armed with a bow and arrows? Don't get me wrong, they are an extension of me—have been for most of my life—but…"

"I saw potential for it after meeting you, reading your file, and after seeing what SHIELD scientists were developing: grappling hooks, trackers, long distant grenades…" Coulson shrugged, a wide smile brightening his face. "And I'm just old fashioned."

"Clearly." Before Coulson could respond to that, Clint continued. "Why did you recruit me for SHIELD? Was it just because of my parents?"

"Partially. It was also because your brother recommended it more than once."

Clint stiffened. It took every ounce of him to not reel his head back. "Barney? Why?"

"He thought you could do it. More than that, I think he thought you needed it. SHIELD…provides a unique work environment for unique people."

"I can't believe…" He sucked in a breath. His heart panged slightly, and he scowled against the sensation. "Then why does he hate me?"

"Because you're better than him. I don't think he knew that until you got promoted over him. Again. And again. And again. And—"

"Okay, I get it. Still, I…" He shook his head; it was now cluttered with painful memories and harsh thoughts. He rubbed his aching temples. "Damn, this is hard. I didn't even want to join SHIELD."

"I remember."

"I hated you guys."

"I remember that, too."

"Yeah? Do you remember _why_, smart guy?"

"You blamed us for your parents' deaths."

"No." He nearly laughed when Coulson went bug-eyed. His tone lighter than it should be, he said, "I thought that was the reason for a long time, but the truth is I hated you guys because my parents…even when they were home, their heads were focused on the next op…. SHIELD is one lifestyle, having a family is another, and I realized that a person can't do both…not really.

"Basically, I hated my parents, not SHIELD," Clint said, smirking humorlessly.

Coulson blinked hard. He was using too much effort to _not_ express his pity, but that made his pity all the more obvious to spot. It was…unlike Coulson to behave that way. Coulson, for all his sappy idealization of heroes and goodness, rarely let himself be this open with a coworker/subordinate/whatever-the-hell-Clint-was-to-him-now.

Then again, Clint was the same way. Or, at least, he used to be.

"I didn't want a family," Clint said, "so when SHIELD offered a job, and when I got over my young adult angst, I took it. I thought I could lead a good life working for an organization like that…an interesting life, at the very least."

Coulson, not unkindly, asked, "Why are you telling me all of this?"

Clint released a taut breath through his nose. "I was seeing a therapist—a Nazi, but what are you gonna do—and she made me realize how important the truth is. That's why SHIELD kept so many secrets, but…if you don't reveal some of them—if no one really knows who you are…then you're not living a good life…an interesting one, I guess, but never a good one."

Coulson clasped his shoulder, his expression open and sincere and happy. Clint would have criticized it if he hadn't just said what he said.

"I know about Fury," Clint continued, "and I know you are the new Director of…whatever."

"SHIELD."

"Really? You're sticking with that name?"

"It seemed to work well enough before."

"I think maybe you should talk to Stark about it. His acronyms are at least amusing."

"More like obnoxious."

"Still."

"I think I'm good."

Clint raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, it's your agency."

Coulson flat-out beamed at that.

"Don't get cocky though. From what I've seen, you only have a handful of people behind you, and a facility that is a damn beacon to all potential threats. You're going to need all the help you can get."

Coulson tilted his head, a suspicious but gleaming look coming over his eyes. "Is that you offering?"

"You already know everything there is to know about me. If you need—"

"You're hired."

They shook hands for some reason; it seemed like a silly gesture, since this wasn't an official interview and he didn't even get an official title. But it felt good. It felt real good.

* * *

Coulson offered to find him a room in the large facility, but that wasn't Clint's style.

Walking on the catwalk again, he searched for a nice hidden spot where he could nap for a few hours. Then he would explore the rest of the base in private while the others continued to sleep.

It was by chance he came by the medical wing. The catwalk didn't go through there, of course, but it was located near the entrance of it. That entire wall—doors included—was made out of glass. The lower half of the glass was tinted black, but the upper half was as transparent as air—shiny, reflective air, anyway. Curiously, Clint looked through it.

Only two beds were in there that he could see, each with a body on it. Only one of those bodies was hooked up to a heart monitor though, amongst other things.

Clint observed the two for a long while. Watching their faces—one dead-relax, the other tense—stirred something in his chest. He swallowed. His limbs suddenly felt as if they were made of cement. He allowed himself to lay down and rest there.

This response…it was instinctive in a way, though he didn't completely understand it. He had felt this way when his brother told him _not_ to avenge their parents' deaths; he felt this way when SHIELD ordered him to kill Natasha. There was just something in his heart—in his blood—that reacted with such drive and certainty that he often had no choice but to follow it.

He wasn't sure why those two kids brought that feeling up again, but he would find out soon enough.

* * *

**And yet another ambiguous ending because I'm crazy. ;)**

**I'm actually thinking about continuing these series of oneshots though. What do you think?**


End file.
